Toy Soldier » Band of Brothers

𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝟷𝟿

𝙹𝚄𝙽𝙴 𝟼𝚝𝚑, 𝟷𝟿𝟺𝟺

By nightfall Second Battalion had secured Sainte-Marie-du-Mont and elements of the 4th Division were beginning to move men and material inland. Most of the 101st Airborne, including Easy Company, were still scattered all over Normandy. The men had been given an hour to rest and scrounge for food they could before they had to move south and secure the town of Culoville.

Tommy sat outside one of the truck where Malarkey, Liebgott, Guarnere, Lip, Toye, Lieutenant Compton, and a few others, were attempting to cook something resembling food. She leaned against the vehicle, cleaning her rifle.

While the entirety of Easy used the M1 Garand— the standard U.S. service rifle, Tommy preferred the Springfield M1903A3. The M1 Garands had generally replaced the 03s, but Tommy prized the Springfield for its reliability and accuracy. It was mostly used by the Marines, but Tommy, being a sniper herself, found that it truly was much more reliable when it came to long distance accuracy. 

Surprisingly enough, her mind refused to dwell on what had happened earlier that day. Instead it drifted aimlessly, flitting between arbitrary thoughts like a restless butterfly. 

Nothing really stuck, while her fingers instinctually cleaned the rifle, taking off the weaver model 330c scope, to wipe it clean of blood. It was only after Liebgott pushed open the truck flap, that she finally zoned back into the real world.

"Jesus! Let me out of here!"

"Light discipline, Lieb." Tommy threw, hefting her rifle over her shoulder without a glance in the mans direction. She accepted Guarneres outstretched arm as he pulled her into the truck. 

"Jesus, it smells like something died in here." she said, squeezing onto the bench next to Malarkey. It truly did smell as if some small mammal had met an untimely end and was slowly decomposing in the back of the transport truck.

"Come on, you're stepping on my legs!"

"Close the flap, Guarnere." Tommy said, ignoring Malarkey's mildly indignant exclamation, "How are we doing, Malark?"

Malarkey tried a spoonful of the vaguely edible looking slop of beans and something else, and nodded, "We're doing good."

"Doing good?"

"Doing good." 

"What the hell do you know about cooking, you're Irish." Liutenant Compton quipped.

"Sir, if you have a reservation someplace else—"

"Just start dishin' it." Tommy cut in, taking the cigarette she had tucked behind her ear and leaning over to Lipton who had offered her a light. Malarkey quickly dished out the vile slop, and Tommy took one glance at it, before pouring it over into Lips mess kit. 

"My cooking not good enough for you, Test?" Malarkey asked with a grin, pushing the the pungent food under her nose.

"Yeah," she quipped, taking a puff of her smoke, "Unlike you boys, I prefer my food to actually be edible."

"You wound me, Sarge."

"Don't you worry, Malark. From what I saw today, with you tryin' to get that luger and all, you'll get plenty wounded without any help from me." she said, taking a puff of her smoke, while the others roared with laughter.

A sudden waft of wonderfully fresh air alerted Tommy to another presence, "Evenin' Lieutenant."

"Good evening." he greeted, before his face screwed up once more, "did something die in here?"

"Yeah. Malarkey's ass." 

"Shut it, Test."

There was a moment of silence, before Guarnere decided to break it, "What with Meehan gone, don't that make you our commanding officer, Sir?"